


An open letter to deities of all forms

by My_Young_Friend



Category: Spooks/MI-5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/pseuds/My_Young_Friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the past few months I am slowly coming to the conclusion that there may be such a thing as fate. If this is, in fact, the case, I would like to emphasise the fact that, right now, I am very, very angry."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An open letter to deities of all forms

_Dear God, or Gods or spirits of any kind,_

_I'll admit that I've not been much of a believer in religion, or spirituality, or anything along those lines. But in the past few months I am slowly coming to the conclusion that there may be such a thing as fate. If this is, in fact, the case, I would like to emphasise the fact that, right now, I am very, very angry._

Ruth could still hear the footsteps behind her. Right, so that was a quarter of a mile. Probably too long, and these days probably was enough.

Her handbag fell to the ground, and she scrabbled to catch its various contents. The footsteps approached as she clutched at her keys, holding the sharp door-key prominently in her fist. She looked up as the figure passed her, a look of contempt on his face as he walked by. A nobody. Just a man going home. She scooped up her bag and continued the long walk back to her flat.

Regulating her breathing, she began to question whether she should move again. It didn't feel right here anymore. Last month she'd begun to feel...uncomfortable. Watched. And for her, even now, that was dangerous.

_I had a life. Not a fantastic one, I'd be the first to admit. But I had a job, one that I was really good at. I had friends, a cat, a nice house. I even, almost, had something else._

It was a blessing, Ruth thought, that South American governments didn't care all that much about immigrants into their countries. Two months on from Hungary, she had a job as a freelance translator; another small, sparsely furnished flat; even a neighbourhood cat appeared to have adopted her. She had begun to tentatively wonder if she could stay here.

_And I accepted that, after I was set up, I'd have to leave it all behind. Fake death, move on, start again. Fine, all fine. Well, except it wasn't fine, but I think I was coping rather well. So did you have to cause that wretched weather front and delay my "immigrant special" boat to Holland? I didn't need to see Harry again. Was there any point to that? Other than making me feel miserable, of course? Knowing that I couldn't stay, and that he couldn't do anything. I could have lived a much happier existence without the memory of him standing on the dock, watching me go._

Ruth was far from being an expert in this things, but she suspected that Ramon at the office was being, well, particularly nice. He smiled a lot. Quite often at her. She'd tried to ask Clementina, who had long ago appointed herself as Ruth's guide to Santiago, and Chilean culture in general. She'd laughed in that somewhat annoying tinkly way and walked off. Ruth wasn't sure what to make of that.

_From Holland to Hungary, then to Algiera and a long flight to Chile. That was Adam's suggestion from the start; a country with no automatic extradition to the UK. "Just in case". I used to think he was underestimating me. I thought I'd be quite capable of staying under the radar, even in Europe. After all, I'm just plain Ruth. I blend in. The wallflower, even when I'm in the centre of the room. Except someone still managed to find me in Hungary._

"So, what is it like to live in England" Ramon said. Ruth set down the tray of coffee and considered her reply.

"Well, it was very dull for me." she replied, sitting beside him on the sofa. "Nothing really happened. That's why I moved here. For an adventure."

"You like excitement?" Ramon asked, amused. Ruth was confused by his tone.

"Why would that surprise you?"

"Because you, Anna," he gestured with his cup "seem to always avoid the interesting assignments."

_But Chile is nice. I have a decent job translating documents, which I'm really rather good at. I have new friends, a new house, even a new cat. Soy Anna Wilson, nada especial. Except for the strange quirk I have about not doing any work for the government. But hey, I'm just Anna, la inglesa._

Now of course, life in Chile was almost beginning to be enjoyable. Ramon was happy that she wouldn't out him; she and Clemetina would go to dinner few evenings a week at his place, being fed magnificent food by his boyfriend, el jefe. Ruth's social life was as active as it had ever been. More so maybe. It was starting to be fun.

This time, she shrugged off the watched feeling. Almost a year after moving to here, and no-one had approached her. The paranoia was a remnant of an old life. This was her new life.

_It's funny, really, that I actually began to believe that I had left everything behind. How many times had I tracked down people who had thought the same things? Set Tom, or Danny, or Adam on their trail. No-one ever disappears. Not when someone is looking for them. _

Though she didn't know until later, the first email had been caught in her spam filter, deleted before she'd even read it. The second she glanced over distractedly and deleted herself. For the rest of the day she had a sense that she had forgotten something, or missed it.  

The third caught her attention. She noted the instructions and told Ramon that she would be taking a late lunch.

Sitting on the bench between the trees, she nervously twisted the handle of her handbag between her hands. She ignored the occasional rustling of the couples walking by. Despite herself, she began to smile as she picked up on the tiny signs of someone trying to walk, very quietly, through the early autumn blanket of leaves. Remembering who it was, she focused, and the smile melted away.

The noises stopped directly behind her. She raised her head and looked straight ahead.

"Percutio.com? Really, Harry, I expected more from you." She said, smugly

_I wasn't sure what to think when I saw Harry's email. I know I was terrified when the words clicked into place and I saw that this company wasn't really that interested in extending any part of me or my finances. Six and Five have been using spam emails for one-way communication for years. I'm fairly sure they will have moved past that by now, but Harry had to use something he knew that I knew. How else could he tell me that I was unofficially exonerated?_

"It's not a pardon. Not as such. I couldn't recommend that you return to Britain, but no-one from there will be looking for you anymore."

Ruth leaned her head back against the top of the bench and took a deep breath. She almost hadn't come. She'd gone through several scenarios in her head in which officers of various security services had tapped her on the shoulder. The nicest of those scenarios ended up with her going back to the UK to serve a life sentence, which would mean life in her case.

She turned her head towards Harry, caution still at the forefront of her thoughts.  He said nothing and passed the file towards her. His face was utterly unreadable and she chided herself for expecting that she could see through the spy-master's poker face. She flicked through the file.

And it was true.

Letters demonstrating that the Evershed incident had been re-designated as a level 8 priority; a note stating that, due to an unfortunate fire at the national archive office, the physical file of the investigation had been destroyed; confirmation from the new head of Six that they had much better things to do than worry about one of Five's agents gone astray ("You'd like her," Harry had said. "She hates politics almost as much as she hates politicians"). In essence, her freedom to live in exile.

Ruth nodded slowly and confronted the elephant in the room.

"Why now, Harry?"

_Later, I found out that Harry had chosen to bow out gracefully after training up a successor. He was given a new identity, generous pension, the typical 'please don't make a nuisance of yourself' handshake. Of course he ignored the identity altogether, preferring one he had been creating for some years:  Peter Garvey, a moderately successful business man who had chosen to retire early and travel the world. The money, however, he kept, sufficiently filtered through five bank accounts, three countries and two shell companies. That was before I met him, again. It's substantially more complicated now._

Ruth had insisted that they move to a cafe. It was loud enough and busy enough to provide cover for their conversation. A small part of Ruth was rather pleased that Harry winced whenever the live band in the corner struck up a rhythm. The rest of her was more focused on Harry's lack of answer.

"Ruth, if I had been aware of this talent of yours, I would have assigned you to our tougher interrogations." Harry said, a faint tone of exasperation coming through.

"I just...I want a straight, uncomplicated answer," she said. "Not 'Operational reasons prevented it' or, or 'precautions had to be taken'" Ruth paused and looked down into her fruit juice, wondering whether she had gone too far. She lifted her head and looked Harry dead in the eye. "I want to know why the documents in this file are dated from a year and a half ago."

"I'd like to say that it wasn't easy to find you," Harry began. Ruth opened her mouth to speak but Harry continued.

"But we both know that I would be lying. I did attempt to make contact through an intermediary some time ago. He said that you did not appear receptive."

"Not recep- was that in Hungary?!" exclaimed Ruth. She knew she'd been too loud as customers at neighbouring tables turned to look. Whispering, almost to her self, she went on "I knew it. I could tell I was being watched. Was he following me? Keeping an eye on me?" Harry looked as though he was about to speak but Ruth gave him no opportunity. "Your _intermediary_" she hissed "was the reason that I left!"

"He assured me that you were unaware-"

"Well he was wrong!"

"Yes, I see that now."

_Even now, I get the occasional urge to slap Harry for the almost sarcastic response he gave. He had absolutely no idea how terrified I was for the weeks between leaving Hungary and reaching Chile. Every immigration check, each siren and even walking through security made me shake with fear. Any pause and I was convinced I'd be pulled into an interrogation room. I wasn't trained for this. I'm not a field agent. And it felt like he was laughing at me._

Ruth was a mixture of furious and relieved. "I left a good job," she caught Harry's look "an _acceptable_ job, a decent apartment; all because I thought Six or worse were after me. And all for what?"

Harry leaned towards her, keeping his voice low, if far from calm. "What choice did I have? I couldn't trust this file through a courier or postal service, and I couldn't come myself, not then."

Ruth knew all this, of course, but her frustration at being forced to uproot herself for no good reason refused to allow her to concede anything to Harry.

"So why now? Why am I now graced with your presence? Run through your stock of go-betweens?" It was a childish shot but Ruth couldn't help it.

"I've resigned, Ruth."

The words took her by surprise. Harry, resign? The man who had outlasted more coups than a corrupt government; the man who had blackmailed a member of government in practically every post.

"Why?" Ruth's question was muted, tempered by Harry's last response.

"I was made to re-think my priorities. By the man who now occupies my office, as a matter of fact. Perhaps  I should have seen that coming," Harry said, drily. Despite herself, Ruth smiled and shook her head.

"You still haven't answered my question." She said, gently.

"Which one of the four or five in the last ten minutes?"

"Why are _you_ here, Harry. Why did you, personally, have to bring this file all this way?"

_I suppose, in retrospect, it was really very cruel to make Harry actually say it. He's not a particularly expressive man. Not verbally, or not in his own words at least. Through sonnets and quotations, yes, but not his own words. _

Harry reached for her hands and she relinquished her glass. As he held them gently, she reminded herself not to smile too foolishly at this gesture. To wait. There was more to come.

He was looking at her, straight into her eyes and it almost felt like he was trying to look into her. Like she had some secret that he needed to uncover. His expression looked utterly determined, but there was a softness there. Ruth waited, as she had been doing for the last god knows how many years.

"I wanted to see you." Harry paused. Just as she was about to say that that wasn't enough, he continued, "Because, Ruth, I have very deep feelings for you."

_If this had been a classic movie, the orchestra would have struck up, and we would have walked hand in hand out towards our happy ending. This being life, I paid for our drinks (despite the protestations of both Harry and the waiter), and asked Harry to email when he wanted to meet again (I had a new spam message before I got back to the office). I may also have, rather embarrassingly, smiled like a teenager in love for the rest of the day. At least, that's how Clementina described me._

_At our next meeting, I put Harry out of his misery._

"I suppose I should tell you that I am, in fact, rather fond of you as well." Ruth said, as casually as she could manage.  

She was looking down, fiddling with her napkin as she spoke. Raising her head, her eyes met Harry's. There was the same, almost childlike smile from their last dinner together adorning his face. This time she reached for his hand and was relieved when he interlocked their fingers.

The waiter returned to take their order and they separated sheepishly. Ruth smiled at Harry and he smiled back as they ordered. It was, thought Ruth, a ridiculous example of British reserve that they both felt embarrassed to even hold hands in public. But then she had never been one for public displays, and was in some way grateful that Harry appeared to feel the same.

The waiter left and something struck Ruth.

"Oh, we haven't been introduced."

"Excuse me?" Harry seemed justifiably confused

Ruth put her hand forward again "Anna Wilson, translator."

Harry took her hand and shook it "Peter Garvey, gentleman of leisure."

"Pleasure to meet you, Peter."

"Likewise, Anna."

_I mean really? All that? Just to show me that yes, as a matter of fact I am rather pathetically in love with a man and that, by a startling coincidence, he happens to feel similarly for me? A little over the top, don't you think._

_So God, Fate and spirits of any kind, I would be very grateful if you could leave me alone to have my happy ending now. I think I've had to wait for it for rather a long time. Could you please go and inspire great acts of selflessness in some other poor fool?_

_Yours faithfully_

__

 

_Anna Garvey_

__


End file.
